Who Taught You to Torture?
by waspinthelotus
Summary: A dark, immensely perverse and decidedly alternative take on the ending of IB when Hans Landa tries to strike a deal with the Basterds. Landa attempts to interrogate Donowitz, and bites off more than he can chew. M/M, blindfold, noncon, choking, gunplay
1. A Kongsberg Down Your Throat, Aldo

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Title: __Who Taught You To Torture?_

_Summary: This a bit of a rewrite of the ending of Inglourious Basterds. Instead of Aldo & Landa striking a deal in their little cafe headquarters, Aldo refuses so Landa has the rest of the Basterds abducted as well. As he attempts to interrogate Donny Donowitz, he bites off more than he can chew._

_Author: WaspintheLotus_

_Rating: NC-17 for graphic violence and slashy sex. Non-con (or dub-con?), choking/breath control, gun play, and bondage._

_Pairings: Col. Hans Landa/Aldo (teasing), Col. Hans Landa/Donny Donowitz_

_Disclaimer: Quentin Tarentino is a genius and I am most certainly not claiming to be a genius, or Q.T. I did not create IB nor do I own any rights to them, I just want to get off.  


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Aldo sat there and listened to sound of the germans kicking the spit out of Private Utivich. It echoed off the dusty café walls. Across the desk from him, Colonel Hans Landa sat with hands held politely in front of him, a peculiar peaceful look in his eyes.

They were sitting at the desk with a single beam of streetlight illuminating the scene. Lieutenant Aldo Raine had his hands tied behind the chair. The untouched glasses of wine still sat there, one in front of Aldo and one where Utivich had been sitting, before that is Landa had told his henchmen to take him out back and break café stools across his skull. The air in the café was thick—the two faces shining from the dim glow. As for the rest of the building—it was empty. Empty except for Utivich's cries.

As they listened Landa leaned forward gingerly. His brows were lifted with a warm inquisitiveness, the corners of his mouth curling at the recognition of his own superiority.

"It's really very simple," Hans purred, tapping his gloved fingertips over a stack of overflowing files. To him the Basterds were cases, numbers, swastika-marked victims and hundreds of missing scalps. They were also _fascinating_. The detective in Landa could not resist a bit of tasteful coercion. "I have no intention of wasting your time further, Aldo. A little cooperation on your part will end the war tonight, uncuff those wrists of yours and set your little lapdog and yourself free from the clutches of the S.S, back to your home country where you can drink all the whiskey and fuck all the women you want. Doesn't that sound nice?"

Aldo watched Hans Landa blink incredulously. The silence was punctuated by the sound of chairs breaking. Aldo knew Utivich could take it, or at least Utivich better take it or he'd end up dead first. So Aldo bent forward, sticking out his chin. "Howsabout you go fuck yerself first?"

Landa's expression remained unchanged, as he casually slid open a drawer and slipped his gloved hand inside. He removed a Kongsberg Colt .45, the metal shimmered. Placing the gun gingerly on the desk, the Colonel repeated his offer.

"You Americans are very stubborn. Surely you have put two and two together—is that how the saying goes—that the other pieces to your precious horde—being Mister Ulmer and Mister Donowitz, if I'm not mistaken—are still sitting in their seats, ready to explode."

"Says you," Aldo sucked his bottom lip, shrugging. "'N last time I thought about it, believing the words comin' outta a gnat-see's mouth… well that's just plain stupid."

Landa rose slowly, sliding his fingers around the Kongsberg silkily. It was suddenly quiet—the brutes must've stopped beating Utivich's head in. Either that or he was dead. Landa ran his index across the barrel of the gun, then slipped it against the trigger. He walked slowly towards Aldo, his bootheels clicking on the cold tiles.

"It would be in your best interest to believe what comes out of my mouth, Lieutenant Aldo," Landa murmered, lifting the gun. "considering the sort of things that could be going into yours."

The barrel of the gun was cold against Lt. Aldo's lips, parched with cold sweat. Landa's hand steadily pressed the gun to the man's teeth. The sleek german lifted his knee, placed his heel firmly on the space between Aldo's legs. He anchored the chair back, pressing the gun firmly.

Aldo's face tightened as the gun pushed against his mouth. A bead of sweat fought its way down his brow. He figured, well shit, this is it, so he pursed his lips against the gun. He sniffed, he could smell the iron and grease.

"Open your mouth," Landa hissed.

The inside of Aldo's throat was dry. He twitched, and Landa forced the chair back further, taking Aldo's feet off the floor.

His lips parted, the barrel tapped against his teeth. He felt it pushed against his tongue. Landa stared at him with a dark wetness in his eyes, hunched over him, leg propping him half out of gravity.

Landa could hear his own heart throbbing. Aldo could too. As Landa held the man there, suspended somewhere between life and death, with that sleek black shiny metal thrust into his mouth, he felt his cock stiffen.

"I could push this gun all the way down that throat of yours and pull the trigger," Landa whispered, lips close enough to Aldo's ear to send shivers down his back. The pressure of Landa's boot between his legs made him maddeningly anxious.

After a heavy moment, Aldo's voice broke incoherently around the instrument of death. "Ah.. fah… fah oah."

Landa stood there for a while before he realized Aldo was trying to make a deal. He slid the barrel out of the man's mouth and dropped his foot. The chair slammed forward on its legs, Aldo's head wagging as he spat, hair a mess.

Landa glanced at the saliva coating the barrel, turning the gun in the light.

"Not until I get Donny and Omar." Aldo said.

Landa glanced at Aldo, who sat there with his shoulders hunched up high, undone bowtie laid across his chest. His forehead gleamed, cheeks pink. "Have we had a change of heart, Aldo?" Landa chuckled. "Not so intent on killing off the Third Reich after all?"

Aldo winced. "Bring in Utivich too."

Landa's eyes raised, he placed a gloved fingertip to his chin. "Ah, that's right… Utivich indeed."

And right there's about the time that the Basterds were really fucked, because Lt. Aldo had a pang of consciousness rattling through his head right about when that Kongsberg shoved its way down his throat. Kino was more than shot, but at least Aldo was alive and there was maybe a chance that the other Basterds would get out in the same condition. Unlikely though.

When they brought Utivich back in he was bleeding pretty bad. They put him back in his chair and he couldn't even sit up straight. Landa put his feet up on the desk and surveyed them.

"That settles it, boys," He grinned widely, sharp teeth sparkling in the lamplight. His hands reached out to graze the rack of medals that decorated his chest. "You're mine."

When the nazis brought in Donny he was spitting and cursing like a sailor from hell. In his tuxedo and white gloves, hair mashed with oil, he felt like an imposter, powerless and enraged. If only he had his slugger. He felt limbless without it.

He and Omar got pushed to the back of the café. He saw Aldo and Utivich. Utivich bloodied up and half-dead. Aldo sat there with a look of complete resignation in his Tennessee blue eyes.

Landa looked Donny over. "Ah, the _Bear Jew_. What a pleasure to finally meet you in person."

"Yeah, go fuck yerself, asshole!" Donny shot out. His outburst was met with a firm smack in the back of the head from a Nazi Rifle.

"What fun!" Landa tittered, narrowing his eyes. He hollered something in German. The henchmen took Donny down to the floor, while he hissed and bit at the air and kicked. They put a knee in his back.

Colonel Landa rose, and as he walked along he kicked over the chair that held the defeated body of Smithy Utivich. The boy crashed to the floor. Aldo screamed out something like "you gnatzi fucker!" and rattled in his binds. The whole café erupted into screams, most of which were Donny's, because he kept saying "I'll fucking kill all of you you jew-killing shitbags fuck you fuck you fuck you sons ah bitches all of ya".

Landa crouched down.

"You know that I am going to have to torture you, right?" He asked, quietly.

Aldo screamed. Donny screamed. Landa shrugged, winking at his men.

They hit Aldo in the back of the head with a pistol and he was out cold. Utivich moaned pitifully on the floor. Ulmer was dead silent. Donny just cursed some more.

Landa stared at Ulmer, who stared straight ahead like he was in a trance, face pale. "Good boy," he said. "This one knows how to behave."


	2. Depraved

The nazis wrestled Donny into the wine cellar. His forehead was cracked open and blood filled up his eyes. Stumbling, kicking, they dragged him down the rickety wooden stairs. His tuxedo jacket was gone, he heaved in a blood-stained undershirt, suspenders and trousers. They grappled him into a chair and tied his hands behind his back. He was getting the real Basterds treatment. He snapped at the air, shook his head, suffering a mild concussion.

More barking in German, and the men dispersed.

"Do you like my office?" Landa stood in the corner, pouring a bottle of bourgelais into twin crystal glasses. The sound of wine glugged. He lifted a glass to his lips and drank. "I realize a wine cellar is not an ideal environment for investigations or detective work, however, it serves me well as an interrogation room. You see," he sauntered slowly towards Donny. "the walls are stone, they absorb the… noise."

Donny stared at Landa with immense hatred. His eyes were black with it, his broken brow bleeding pure rage. There was nothing Donny hated more than nazis, of course, and Col. Hans Landa was certainly at the top of this list.

"Your eyes, so full of anger! Did anybody ever tell you, Mister Donowitz," Landa placed himself in front of Donny, sneering as he held the two wine glasses. "That jews have the prettiest eyes?"

Donny lurched in his seat, "I'll fuckin' bite your nose off you sick nazi bastard!"

Landa smirked as he sipped at his glass. "Will you?!" He giggled, then leaned forward, putting his face right in view of Donowitz, whose face bulged with unrestrained dismay, teeth bared, sweat pouring off of him. "Show me your hatred, then! Spit it at me, curse! It's all you can do, boy, because you're tied up like an animal in the custody of the S.S.! I've been hunting the Basterds down for four long years and I'll be damned if I won't let the sweet sound of your dying cries resonate in my brain!"

Curse Donny did. He went through the alphabet. He spat at Landa's boots.

Landa caught him across the head with the side of his Kongsberg.

Donny grunted, eyes shut. His head hung loosely.

Landa drank, refilled his glass, and drank again. As he tasted the exquisite bourgelais he observed the german medallions still encircling Donny's throat, laying against his exposed clavicles. He must have worn them under his tuxedo, his amulets, his treasures. As Donny blinked blearily up at him he lifted his brows. "I digress." Landa whispered. "You must be thirsty." He raised the glass to Donny's lips.

Gasping, dehydrated, beaten, Donny drank. Hatefully, he drank.

Landa gave him the second glass. Then he refilled a third. Each time Donny swallowed it down, eyes burning a hole into Hans Landa, eyes black with loathing.

"Such a rude jew, cursing the company that brings him such fine wine," Landa laughed. He realized with numbness that he felt drunk. He realized with numbness that he saw the Bear Jew sitting in front of him, chest heaving with indignity, blood pouring down his face. With numbness he fondled the Kongsberg in his holster.

"I have one condition for this interrogation, Donny." Landa spoke slowly, unaware that he was now calling Donowitz by his first name.

"You're not fucking getting' anything out of me." Donny asserted, bleeding.

"That is not the point," said Landa.

Landa kneeled by Donny's legs, which were bound firmly to the legs of the chair. He flipped out a pocket knife and cut off a long strip of fabric from Donny's trouser leg. Rising, he showed the strip to Donny, who stared back in confusion.

As he wrapped the fabric around Donny's head, effectively blindfolding him, Donny thrashed. His erratic jerking set Col. Landa off-balance, as he was, by comparison, a slighter figure. So he wound up sitting, more specifically dropping rather suddenly onto Donowitz's bound thighs, leather-encased legs sprawled at either side, his bootheels clicking on the tiles. He breathed wine out into the air between them at the sudden bodily contact.

Blindfolded, Donny snapped. "What is this shit?"

Heat, and the smell of blood and sweat was coming off of Donowitz. He smelled like an animal. A very male one. Landa's nostrils flared. With Donny's eyes off of him, his face relaxed. With obvious curiosity his head inclined, and he raised the pocket knife blade to stroke against Donny's bare clavicle, disturbing the rows of dogtags strewn across his chesthair.

"You're a killer," Landa said.

"I'll fucking kill _you_," Donny grunted, but he didn't sound so sure.

With his gloves on, Landa put his hand on Donowitz's face. He probed his lips with his leatherclad fingers. Donny jerked back, bleeding behind his blindfold. "Your lips are so soft," the words dropped from Landa's lips, "they betray your nature." As soon as he said it, he felt his chest burn. The great jew-hunting detective was losing his finesse. It was the wine, and the physical sensation of the young man beneath him, every muscle tense against a multitude of ropes. The air became thicker.

"You think you're such a fine fuckin' detective," Donny grunted, breaking the heavy air. "You're just a fuckin' nazi with a hard-on."

As Donny's words hit the Colonel, he realized with profound lucidity that he was sitting on a point of immense heat. He was unintentionally grinding him hips. He was rock-solid and he was sitting on something equally as dense. The Bear Jew was beneath him, emanating heat and violence, cock stiff against the man sitting in his lap. They were both hard. It was perverse.

Immediately Landa's hands went to Donowitz' throat. He wanted to strangle him, like he strangled Von Hammersmark, like he strangled so many others, young Jewesses, and rentboys in Berlin. The force of the action sent the chair sprawling backwards. They fell together to the cold cellar floor. Landa was sitting on Donny's chest and he squeezed the hell out his throat, while Donny gasped and hissed against it.

Engaged in madness, Landa removed a hand, watched Donny choke. He stopped. Thoughtless, he started shrugging off his trenchcoat. Donny panted. Landa's thoughts were overcome by a black cloud of pure sadistic thrill.

"I can choke the life out of you right here in this filthy French cellar," Landa said, his voice tinny, far-away sounding. He leaned his body back, sat back on Donny's hips, felt the hard cock pressing up through his trousers. He swallowed thickly, brought his gloved fingers to his teeth, began to pull the glove off.

For once, Donny had no response. He laid on the floor, Landa on top of him, gasping blindly.

Col. Landa laid his bare hand against the naked flesh of Donowitz's throat. He felt the dogtag chords, dirty and worn, making their mark on his skin. Leaning into it Landa purred, "or I can just choke you."

He squeezed again. Donny reeled, bucked his hips up unto the colonel's thigh. Landa throbbed, head spinning. He choked Donny until Donny started hitching, and he stopped again and put his bare hand flat over the man's slick mouth.

"Depraved." Landa spat, hair becoming disheveled, face reddened. He slipped off of Donny, realized he was immensely, intolerably hard. Breathing stiffly he looked at the blindfolded madman. He stated, plainly, "I am insane for this," and took out the pocket knife, and cut the bonds.


	3. Revenge

Donny pulled off his blindfold first, then he kicked the chair halfway across the cellar and that's when Landa knew he had made a horrible mistake. Standing to his full six foot four inches, the Bear Jew grasped Landa by the ankle, dragging him across the floor. Landa slid easily, with a terrified bare look in his face, and panicked fingers went to clasp his .45 but Donny got it first. Landa swiped with his pocket knife, it caught Donny across the chest. The man laughed, slammed Landa on the back of the skull with the Kongsberg, put his hand around Landa's throat and pinned him against a stone pillar. The knife clattered to the floor.

Their genitals clashed through the fabric of their trousers. Donny choked him, breathing against his neck. Landa let out a peculiar whimper. Suddenly, he was flipped around. He felt his face collide with the cold stone. Bear Jew's hips pinned him against the construction. The gun shifted places, stuffed between Donny's suspenders and the waistband of his pants.

Landa felt a rough fabric skim his cheek. It was the strip from Donny Donowitz' trouser sleeve. It was the blindfold. Donny slipped it around Landa's head, tied it too tight. His world turned black, horrifically, completely.

"Don't…" Landa pleaded.

He felt his belt being loosened, large fingers touching the tender skin behind his neck and ears. "Yer a real fuckin' perverted nazi sum'bitch, y'know that?" Donny quipped, pushing Landa's legs apart with his knees.

Landa flattened his cheek into the stone, squeezing his eyes against the darkness.

He felt a hot hand reach around and grab him by the cock. His whole body, including his swollen prick, spasmed. This was not how it was supposed to go. This was not the thrill Landa was seeking, thrill though it was, undeniably. Donny's hand closed around Landa's throat. His trousers slipped down, bare skin feeling the heat burning from the Bear Jew's groin.

"I'm going to make you scream." Donny said.

Donny forced him to the ground. Landa was trembling. The cold air stung on his aching cock and nude ass. His hands, gloveless and exposed, felt the uneven stone floor, searching desperately for something to grab a hold of. Donny's hands were all over him, pinching and squeezing him, hot and intrusive and irresistibly depraved.

"You sick nazi fuck, you want me to do this to you, don't you?" Donny growled from somewhere behind Landa. Landa kneeled there, head bent, uniform askew. Donny's hot fingers encircling Landa's prick, gripping it too hard. He heard Donny spitting, he felt the unmistakable slick pressure.

"Stop." Landa begged.

"Slut." Donny grabbed him by the hair, pushed into him.

It burned like kerosene, like arsenic, like whiskey in a German throat. Landa's cry was caught in the air, absorbed by the sinister cellar walls. The Bear Jew groaned with animalistic desire, pushed in to the hilt despite the rejection of Landa's tender insides. The pain was encased in darkness, Landa's body spiking everywhere, blood fleeing from him, fingernails scratching into the stone, tears building up behind the makeshift blindfold.

All at once Donny's fingers were grabbing Landa's throat again and he was being choked and impaled, without hesitance. His eyes rolled, tongue stabbing at the air as his breath was stolen from him. The friction was unbearable, too hot for words or thought or sanity. Donny slowed, dragged out a single thrust, grazed something inside of Landa that made him sob. Precome dripped down his cock.

"The little nazi slut likes being raped." Donny spoke in broken breaths, pulling out with relishing slowness. He alternated pressure on Landa's throat, allowed him a few spare lungfuls of desperate gasps.

"P-Please…" Landa's black world spinning, legs buckling. "Stop."

Donny grabbed a fistful of Landa's hair, it felt too soft beneath his grip. His hips plunged back in. He fucked relentlessly. Landa fought for breath, blind and inundated with sensation. "You fuckin' powerhungry little cocksucker, you thought you could have me under your fuckin' control, jee-sus Christ…" The bodies pounding into one-another, Donny's big mouth prattling on in the echoing basement. "Now none ah yer lil nazi lackeys kin hear you… getting fuckin' raped here on the floor and loving every second of it."

Donowitz was right. Because Landa had begun, quite out of his control, to hitch and hiss along time with Donny's brutal thrusts, because it was absolutely killing him inside to control himself any longer.

"F…f..fuck," Landa cried out, the word sounding foreign and meaningless. It was almost a question. So Donny answered it.

"—Yeah? What do you want to say, little faggot nazi?"  
Donny removed the pistol from his suspenders. He pressed the barrel firmly to Landa's temple.

"—What do you want to say, Hanz Laahn-Dahh, do you want to say you're a cockhungry nazi slut? You love this Bear Jew cock? Fuckin' tell me to rape you."

Landa wailed: "I…"

Donny pistolwhipped him, dragged his insides.

Landa whispered: "_Rape me."_

The Bear Jew put his fist around Landa's neck again and fucked him slowly, intolerably so. Landa let out pathetic moans, boots scraping on the floor, he was pushing back with his spine, bare-assed and shameless. The heat burned in his face, behind the blinding piece of cloth. He was completely powerless, lost, ashamed, elated, spinning, mad with violence, masochist.

Donny flipped him over and shoved his fingers in the german's open, gasping mouth. Landa's naked hands grabbed at Donny's big arm, his tongue fighting against the digits thrust behind his teeth.

"Suck on 'em," Donny ordered, so Landa drooled on them, lapped at them, moaned and cried out as his body was ravaged. The force of Donny's thrusts deepened, became more disorganized, rampant. Landa smelled nothing but sweat, fear, the distinct musk coming off of Bear Jew's arm, he experienced the fingers invading his throat. The digits plunged into his gullet, gagging him. As he gagged and choked for air, an electric spasm zig-zagged up his spine and he came with the Bear Jew's cock inside of him.

Donny laughed, fucked Landa mercilessly, then pulled out and grabbed Landa by the arm. He twisted the Colonel back onto his stomach, pinning his arm to the floor. He stabbed his knee into Landa's shoulders, and pulled off his blindfold right as he fisted his dick to orgasm, shooting jets of white cum onto the swastika emblazoned on Colonel Hans Landa's armband. He wanted Landa to see it. Landa saw.

Standing, Donowitz zipped up his trousers. He surveyed the ravaged German, lying on the barren cellar floor, staring in disbelief at the white stains on his armband. Then he walked over to a wine rack, prying loose a large piece of wood. Several bottles of wine crashed to the floor, the perfume of French wine filling the cellar, mixing with the scent of sex and blood. Donowitz weighed the wood in his hand, then balanced it across his shoulder like a baseball bat. He made his way up the stairs, back to the café, where the Germans were.

As the cellar door swung open and close, Landa heard the shouts of his henchmen, coming and fading, along with the distinct echo of skulls being cracked.


End file.
